


future present

by mikkal



Series: giggle not into the abyss [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkal/pseuds/mikkal
Summary: The future is unknown, but sometimes is bleeds into the present.





	future present

**Author's Note:**

> fill for whumptober day 2 "bloody hands."
> 
> edited: dec 11, 2018

Noctis hears the door click shut, the rustle of take-out bags and Gladio taking off his jacket. He exits out of his game, twisting in his seat to address his Shield, only to pause when his heart skips a beat. And then it skips another one. And another.

Then his chest is _burning_. Noct struggles to breathe around the sudden vice around his lungs, tries to call Gladio’s name only for it to come out in a pathetic croak.

He presses a hand to the radiating pain in the center of his chest, where the burning starts, doubles over to curl over his lap. His shirt is wet, he can’t help but notice. Wet and sticky, too warm and yet cooling rapidly. He pulls his hands away, stares blankly at the crimson staining his palm, dripping down his wrist. His vision blurs and wavers. Blood.

Noct glances down in a daze. His shirt is soaked in it, the fabric clings to him, dripping blood to the elastic of his sweats. He coughs, choking, and that too comes out wet. A sharp metallic tang bursts on his tongue, making him gag. He curls over even more, slipping off the couch, forehead pressed to the carpet as he sobs and cries. It burns. It hurts. Oh, Gods. It hurts so much.

“Noct?”

He gasps sharply at the sound of his name. A hand grabs his shoulder, pulling him from the ground and his curled position. Noct cries out when the movement makes his chest spark with fire. He sways in the firm grip, falling back against something solid and comforting, the back of his head on someone’s shoulder. Gladio’s face is hazy through his pain-washed vision, expression twisted in fear and worry.

Gladio curls an arm around his chest, keeping him from bowing to the ground again. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? _What’s wrong_? Blood trails from Noct’s lips, stains his teeth, clogs his lungs. His pants and shirt are soaked through, smearing the carpet like a crime scene. The wound in his chest bubbles. He’s lost so much. So much. He should be dead by now…shouldn’t he?

“Gla—,” he gasps out. He reaches up with a trembling hand, tangles it in the collar of the older teen’s hoodie. “Gladio,” he whimpers.

“Noct, _breathe_ ,” Gladio demands, shaking him a little.

He can’t. Oh Gods, he can’t. He tries, and it comes out in a gurgle. There’s blood on his chest, in his lungs, in his throat. It bursts from his mouth, stains the underside of Gladio’s face with little specks of red.

“Damnit. Breathe.”

Then, there’s a sharp pinch in his ear. Gladio digs his nails in the flesh of his earlobe, catching a nerve, and jars Noct from his twisting spiral of pain and blood and fire. He jerks away, breaking through Gladio’s hold, barely catching himself on the coffee table. His vision wavers, his face is drenched in sweat. But the original throbbing burn is fading in response to the pinch.

Gladio moves him to lean against the couch and it doesn’t hurt. He’s there, crouching in front of him, cupping a hand to his cheek.

“What was that?” he asks, once he’s sure Noct can focus on him instead of something beyond his shoulder.

Noct’s fingers are still tangled in his hoodie, he can’t find it in himself to let go. “Wh-What?” he whispers around a numb tongue.

Gladio frowns. “No, that’s my question,” he says. “What the hell was that?”

He touches his chest with his free hand. There’s nothing there but shirt. His hand is clean except for lines of dirt he missed during his after-practice shower. His mouth tastes like nasty protein shake and the soda he drank to wash it down. Nothing’s wrong. Absolutely nothing is wrong.

So much is wrong.

Noct feels light headed now. “You didn’t see that?” Blue ghosts flash in the corner of his eyes, but whenever he looks there’s nothing there except his apartment.

Gladio turns his head back until they’re eye-to-eye. “All I saw was you having some sort of panic attack.” The hazy look of concern Noct saw earlier wasn’t a trick of the mind, Gladio’s expression is still stuck in worry mode with only a hint of relief now. “You okay?”

“I think so?” Noct ventures. He breathes in deep, just to check that he can. “It was so weird.” Blue glimmers again. He looks, catches sight of a cape in a breeze before nothing’s there. “It felt like I got stabbed in the chest.” He detangles his grip from his hoodie. “And then it kept burning.”

He glances around his apartment at whole, bypassing Gladio’s intense stare. There are no more ghosts, no more pain. The phantom feeling of the throne still sits on his back, though, despite the fact he hasn’t sat on that particular chair since he was a kid cute enough to get away with it.

“I’m okay,” he decides. Gladio looks uncertain. He nods. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s gone now. Sorry,” he murmurs that last part, his face flushing in embarrassment. He rubs the center of his chest absently.

“Only if you’re sure,” Gladio says, helping him stand on shaky legs.

Noct nods again. Takes another deep breath. “Yeah, it’s over now. I’m okay.”


End file.
